


A Week in Paris

by annebenedicte



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-15 12:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18499288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annebenedicte/pseuds/annebenedicte
Summary: April 2019 - Bernie and Serena are spending a week in Paris ...





	1. Chapter 1

“Tell me again why you didn’t get your own?”

“Hmm – I told you, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips…” replied Serena as she savoured the last of Bernie’s chocolate and pear ice cream, which she had largely helped to demolished.

“You don’t need to diet, darling – you look perfect the way you are.”

“Aww – thanks, but…”

“No but – tonight, you’re ordering your own dessert. I’m not letting you get one bite of mine.”

 

Hearing Bernie banter like that was like music to Serena’s ears. Just seeing her strolling on the Seine banks, looking suntanned and relaxed, was a miracle. Just three months before, when she had watched her disappear from Albie, she had thought they would never see each other again. And it hadn’t taken her long to realise she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. Of course, it hadn’t helped that everyone she confided in had thought so too. Fleur had told her that she was the “stupidest idiot she’d ever met”, Fletch had sulked for weeks and Donna had looked at her reproachfully. Over a drink at Albie’s, Ric had pleaded with her not to make the same mistakes he had made, and even Henrik Hanssen, who never ever said anything had told her he was “sorry to hear that she and Ms Wolfe had parted company.” Jason hadn’t said anything, because she hadn’t told him. Much easier that way – it had saved her a lot of explaining.

She had gone back to the antidepressants she had taken after Elinor’s death, and she spent sleepless nights imagining Bernie happy in Nairobi with someone else.  Only the time she spent with Guinevere could zap her out of her melancholy.

As they strolled back through the Latin Quarter towards their Hotel, Bernie thought how different this Parisian trip was to the one she had taken with Marcus. And yet, maybe not so different, because in a way, this was a honeymoon too. Her real one had started badly, thought – Marcus had argued with the taxi driver about the way he had chosen to get them to the hotel – after all, surely the cabbie should have been able to predict a bin lorry would choose exactly the same street and slow them down for nearly fifteen minutes … Then, he hadn’t been satisfied with the hotel room – he didn’t like the view – and he had argued about that too, in his very British French. When Bernie had intervened with her fluent French, he had resented it, and had sulked for a whole day because she could speak the language and he couldn’t. He’d always said he’d fallen in love with her brain as much as with her beauty, but if she showed signs of outsmarting him, he hated it.  He had planned the trip very carefully: he had wanted to impress her, to take her shopping in the Rue Saint-Honoré where all the couturiers were, to the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, and had booked for diner at La Tour d’Argent and on the bateaux-mouches. She had wanted to stroll casually in untouristy areas, to drink coffee and diabolos menthe in cafés, to have candlelit diners in small restaurants. She’d never liked dressing up, always felt more at ease in slacks and shirts, and she had no time for museums. Facing Marcus at their table at La Tour d’Argent, uncomfortable in a new black dress, she had looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time, and had the sense that something, once again, was “wrong”. Being with someone during lectures, the occasional Sunday afternoons, and drinking in students’ bars may not have been a good preparation for marriage. She had been seduced by the young doctor who was so self-assured and so evidently in love with her. She had not known how to refuse him when he’d asked for her hand in marriage, because after all, it’d seemed like the perfect match. He was clever, ambitious, handsome, his family was well-off, and he obviously cared for her. And so she had let her guard down, forgotten her decision never to trust or rely on anybody ever again, and she’d accepted his offer.   
And yet, on that evening, over foie gras and sole à la normande, she did not feel “cared for” – she felt smothered and bent out of shape, as if Marcus had been trying to fit her round shape into a square hole. She had felt panic rising.

This time, everything would be different. For once, she was in charge. She had chosen the hotel – hell, she had chosen Paris! This time it would be on her terms. They would do exactly what they wanted for a whole week. Eat croissants in bed, take long baths in the jacuzzi they’d discovered in their suites, wander around Paris randomly, sip champagne on a terrace facing Notre Dame …They would take their time, and it would be as much a discovery of Paris as a discovery of themselves – of she and Serena as a couple. Something she had never thought would happen again. Not that they had taken many vacations together – when she had joined Serena in Provence, Serena had still been very much grieving for her daughter. This week would be just for them. When she had received Serena’s letter – a real letter, not an email like the ones she had deleted without opening them, she hadn’t been able to throw it away unopened. She had wanted to – so much! It had come as a fresh wound on her still raw scars. Walking away on the evening of Jason’s wedding – walking away with a smile – it had been the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life.

Being with Serena – being brave enough – had brought her as much joy as it had pain, but that last goodbye had been pure agony. Keeping the mask until she’d been back in her hotel room – keeping up appearances – it had taken her last dregs of courage. And back in Nairobi, she had spent countless nights in tears, nestled against her companion. After a week, even Nyeusi   had had enough and had left her bed to go and sleep in the lounge. Despite the deep shadows under her eyes, her colleagues at the hospital hadn’t said anything, probably because of the “keep out of my business expression” etched on her face. When she had woken up one morning sick as a dog with a hangover and had had to call in sick at the Trauma Unit – for maybe the second time in her life – she had decided that she couldn’t go on like that anymore. She had had a long scorching shower, had got dressed and gone out to walk for hours, not a mean feat under the African sun. When she’d come back to her small flat, she had been calmer than she had been in days. She had sat on the floor and had waited until Nyeusi had come crawling out of whatever hiding place she had chosen that day, and she had made amends for all those teary nights by a big cuddle and later on a bowl of fresh fish. The little black cat she had rescued from a dilapidated carton box in the hospital carpark had accepted her unsaid apologies…

 

Back in their suite, Bernie flopped down on the bed while Serena looked at the pictures she had taken that afternoon – Bernie looking at a bouquiniste’s stall, Bernie eating ice cream, Bernie in front of Notre Dame…and a few other pics as well. She wanted as many memories as she could of their trip. She shed off her shoes and massaged her feet, grimacing: “Ouch – we must have walked miles today!”

“Poor you – you would never have survived at Sandhurst… But I must admit my back is giving me gyps.”

Serena heard the implicit plea and came to kneel on the bed while Bernie sat at the edge of it. The massage and its accompanying kisses in Bernie’s neck elicited a few groans of pain and pleasure and Bernie’s stiff shoulders loosened, along the tensions of their first days back together. The letter she had finally opened with a certain amount of trepidation had convinced her to give their couple another go. Because after all, she had promised to come back if Serena got hurt, and Serena was hurt. By her own fault, but the results were the same. And when she had read the letter, she could see Serena’s pleading eyes and hear her voice spell her anguish. Serena had written she had been a fool, she hadn’t trusted her enough. She hadn’t believed Bernie could forgive her. And so she had let her go, because she loved her too much to make her stay. But it had been a terrible mistake. Even in a few months, she had changed, and she missed her. She missed even her absent presence sprinkled with too few phone calls and emails. She missed having someone to dream about in the evenings, and found her nightmares only helped revive the split. She wanted a second chance.


	2. Chapter 2

And because Bernie had never been able to refuse Serena anything, because she would have gone to the ends of the world for her, and because she was miserable, she had been all too ready to give her one. But she wanted their reunion far from Holby and Nairobi – far from the ties that bound them to their work families. Far from emergency surgeries and babysitting crises. And so she had chosen Paris. They had decided to meet at the hotel – Serena arrived at the Gare du Nord via the Eurostar, and Bernie’s plane had landed at Roissy, so that was the most practical solution. A slightly dishevelled Bernie had found Serena waiting in the hotel lobby, and they had hugged tentatively at first, and then melted into each other, oblivious of the receptionist, the hotel staff and the other clients. And then they had left their luggage in the suite  and gone out again immediately, because being together again alone had suddenly become too much, too awkward, and Bernie had retreated in her shell. She had even regretted her decision, because if she got hurt again, it would be too much to bear. And to feel Serena’s lips on hers, to hold her in her arms, to smell her scent, to touch her skin, to see her eyes…it somehow overcame her senses so much that she felt almost light-headed.

During their first days in Paris, they had walked a lot, taken in a few sights, and worked on reconnecting with each other. They had gone to the Jacquemart-André Museum, and strolled on the Grands Boulevards. They had spent one of their nights at the Opera, to see La Sylphide – Bernie’s choice, and Serena had born it bravely. On the Saturday afternoon, instead of walking around in the rain, they had eaten a late lunch of crêpes and cider, visited Notre-Dame and gone to heat a concert at La Sainte-Chapelle. The location was magnificent, and the stained glass well worth the hour spent there listening to a middle-age singer who tried her best but just couldn’t cut it. And of course, at night, they had snuggled and not talked – because words belonged to the days and cuddles to the night. They hadn’t even made love for two night, happy just to rediscover the quiet bliss of spooning, and just a little afraid that the past would impede their intimacy. And when they had the third night, it had been gentle at first, caresses, little butterfly kisses, nibbles and licks, and then intense, angry almost, as they dipped inside each other and came in unison.

 

After that first night of their reunion, Bernie let her guard down a little more, and she had found she was again able to show her affection with little gestures. Taking Serena’s hand in the street, for instance, or sneaking a kiss at an opportune moment. On that Sunday afternoon, she had even bought Serena a red rose at the flower market near the Ile de la Cité. They were now in a typical café not far from Notre Dame, enjoying a drink and waiting for the sun to set on the Seine. Serena had even switched her usual Shiraz for a Bordeaux and Bernie had gone even more native with a pastis. After an almost superhuman restraint, Serena had succumbed to the crisps accompanying the drinks, and scowled at Bernie’s knowing look. So much free time for either of them was almost unheard of lately, and just looking at the masses of tourists hovering on the cathedral’s square made them glad they could just rest and enjoy their peace. A peace which was rudely interrupted a few minutes later by screaming police cars and a mass movement. Nobody understood what was happening at first, and of course, for many people, tourists and Parisians alike, the spectre of the terrorist attacks of the last years still hovered around. The policemen did their best to contain the panic, and soon it became obvious that it wasn’t a bomb, but an age-old catastrophe. The cries of “ça brûle! Fire!” in several languages made it all too plain – Notre Dame was burning.  At a safe distance, the crowds were reluctant to evacuate further , mesmerised by the flames engulfing the cathedral’s roofs. Bernie sprang up suddenly and darted towards a small opening in the sea of onlookers, leaving a bewildered Serena to throw some money on the table and follow.

“Laissez-moi passer! Je suis médecin ! »

Not for the first time that week was Bernie thankful to the charismatic French teacher who had brought her Fifth formers to Paris thirty-five years before and inspired her a life-long love of the language. She knelt down and took the pulse of the more-than-plump middle-aged woman she had seen fall from where she sat.

“Madame? Madame? Ouvrez les yeux- regardez moi ? Parlez-moi ? »

Nothing – the woman was unconscious. Her husband was hovering over her, ineffectually wringing his hands. “Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé?” Bernie asked curtly.

“My wife - she was fine, and I don’t know – she said she was feeling sick, and they began to say we had to leave, and …”

So they were American. Bernie repeated who she was for the husband’s benefit: “I’m a doctor – but you have to call an ambulance.”

At first she’d thought the woman was having an anxiety attack, but her pulse indicated otherwise.

“Give me your jacket – quick!”

She slipped the jacket under the woman’s head and began chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, cursing the woman’s large breasts which got in the way of the manoeuvre. After fifteen minutes of intensive activity, during which Bernie could feel the crowd’s fascinated attention on her, she finally got a pulse, and that’s when two paramedics finally made their way to them. She briefed them on the woman’s condition: “Arrêt cardiaque il y a environ 20 minutes. Je l’ai récupérée, mais je ne sais pas pour combien de temps. » I got her back, but I don’t know for how long. While the paramedics got the woman onto a stretcher, the husband tried to thank Bernie but she waved him away: “Just did my job – good luck – hope it all goes well.”  Seeing the spectacle was over, the crowd began to disperse and the eyes – and the phones - turned once again towards the inferno. Bernie looked around and spied Serena leaning against a street lamp.

“Well done, Major!”

“All in a day’s work…” Bernie blushed and savoured her old rank. Their own private term of endearment that she hadn’t heard in a long time. The lingering kiss accompanying the praise wasn’t unwelcome either.

“I could have done with a little help in there, you know, darling…”

“Nonsense – you had it all in hand. Besides… I was somewhat tied up too.”

Bernie frowned uncomprehendingly and Serena motioned at her feet, where a very small dog of unknown breed was shivering and cowering against her leg.

“She ran straight towards me and I can’t shake her off. And I’m afraid she’ll get trampled. I was hoping her master or mistress would see her, but…”

Bernie knelt down once again, noting her beige slacks were probably ruined forever and scratched the little thing under her jaw. Seeing that it did nothing to calm the dog down, she picked it up and kept it in her arms until the animal’s heart beat slowed down.

“Hey you – how are we going to find your people, uh? Let’s see your collar.”

Serena reached out and sure enough, a medal hung on the little pink and gold collar, with a name and a phone number. “Poupette, 06 …”

“Right – hold her for me, will you?”

Bernie handed over the dog and fished her mobile out of her jacket pocket. A frantic young woman answered. Apparently, the dog had run quite a long way and her panic had nothing to do with the fire. Her owner was just walking out of the Jardin du Luxembourg when a car had backfired, scaring both the young woman who’d been clipping on the leash and the dog, who’d fled. As the night was falling and the pavements were still busy, the dog had quickly disappeared. Bernie and the young woman agreed on a meeting point at the Fontaine St Michel and hung up.

“Well Poupette – we’ve found your owner – let’s get you back to her…”

They disentangled themselves from the crowd, Serena still holding the little dog in her arm, a finger under her collar, and walked towards the fountain.

“I hope that woman makes it” mused Bernie aloud. “Imagine that – to come all the way from America and to have a heart attack in Paris. How …How senseless!”

“See Naples and die – only we’re not in Naples. But she’ll make it, Bernie – they were lucky you were there.”

“Yes – maybe. I don’t know – maybe I should have gone with her to the hospital. Maybe …”

Serena did a double turn and came face to face with the blonde, staring straight into her eyes: “Stop that right now! You always do that – doubt yourself! You know you’re a fantastic doctor – if she dies, she dies. End of the story.”

Bernie blushed and bit her lower lip. Then she grinned and deposited a kiss on Serena’s cheek before making a face – Poupette had seized the occasion to participate in the kiss with a vey pink, very wet tongue…

“Thanks for being my champion – you’re right – I did my best. But…”

“But nothing – let’s get this little rascal back to her owner and go and have dinner. Unless you want to change first?”

Bernie looked ruefully at her creased and sweat-stained shirt and her muddy trousers: “Might be better?”

“Let’s go back to the hotel – the restaurant looked rather nice anyway, if we can’t find anywhere else.”

“Okay.”

When they arrived at the fountain, they had no trouble finding Poupette’s owner – the little dog was straining towards a young brunette with a pink streak in her hair. The young woman thanked them effusively in broken English and put her dog in a little pink padded bag with “Poupette” in rhinestones.

Now she was rid of the dog, Serena tucked Bernie’s arm under hers and Bernie sighed and let her head drop on Serena’s shoulder.

“Ouch – long day!”

Serena caught Bernie’s little grimace of pain: “Bernie? Are you all right?”

“Yes – yes – it’s just my back again. When I was doing the CPR protocol – well, she had large breasts and – I went at it hard, and wrenched my back a little. It’s nothing, really – I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you will – because we’re taking a cab back to the hotel, and you’re going to have a nice long hot bath, and my special massage…”

“Hmm – don’t think I’ll argue with you there – that _will_ be nice.”


	3. Chapter 3

They ended up sharing the jacuzzi, and Bernie almost fell asleep in it. Neither of them felt like getting out of the plush white peignoirs to dress again, and they decided on room service. After all, there was no point in staying in a four-stars hotel if you did not avail yourself of the amenities. They decided to share several dishes – easier to do in the privacy of the suite too. A waiter rolled in a white-clothed table with several silver cloches and when he uncovered the dishes, they discovered they were both ravenous. They had decided on a choice of starters and desserts.  Foie gras with a gingerbread purée, prosciutto and figs, burrata and tomato salad, and for afters chocolate fondant, crème caramel and fresh strawberries. Serena picked a strawberry and offered it to Bernie.

“Maybe I should get a dog…” she said.

A momentary cloud passed over Bernie’s face – if Serena got a dog, it was one more responsibility to anchor her to Holby. Jason and Greta would need her less and less, Guinevere would grow up, but if she was intent on tying herself down… Not that she had hopes of Serena joining her in Nairobi – that ship had sailed. But she wouldn’t be there forever, and they could have chosen her next posting together. And yet, she could imagine Serena with a dog – a black lab, maybe, or something a bit bigger. She could see it in the garden, wagging its tail on the little piece of lawn behind Serena’s house. She could imagine Guinevere, a bit older, teasing it and playing with it. And she could see herself and Serena sipping a drink and looking at the tableau. Because she had lied that last evening – however hard it was for her to do so. She could see herself after a day at work, sharing stories with Serena. She could see them growing old together, with their own patchwork family of relatives and co-workers. She wanted that for herself – desperately. But she had lied along with Serena, because the latter had seemed so sure of her decision, so earnest in offering her her freedom, that she hadn’t dared disagree. Better make it look like it had been a mutual decision. A mutual decision they had both bitterly regretted ever since.

Bernie swallowed hard and found a small smile: “A dog would be nice – but please choose a real dog – not an overgrown rat!  I must admit I would have been lonely without Nyeusi.”

Serena was immediately jealous : “Nyeusi?”

“My cat – here’s a picture. Nyeusi means black in Swahili.”

“Oh – right – she’s lovely.”

Just then Serena’s phone beeped and she peered at the screen: “It’s your son …He wants to know if I’m safe. That’s nice of him!”

“Cam? Why would he…?”

“Because I told the team before I left that I was taking a few days off sipping red wine in front of the Eiffel Tower. I’m sure he’s intelligent enough to understand I’m in Paris. And apparently the fire has made worldwide news.”

“Oh – oh, okay – I see… Did you …”

“No – I didn’t tell him I was meeting you, if that’s what you want to know.”

“Oh – right then – it’s not that … I mean, I don’t – I just haven’t said anything, you know, about… Anyway, he doesn’t keep in touch much. The last text he sent me was about the Junior Doctor Lead thing. He is very proud of that – and I must admit I am, too. He’s a bright kid, but I’m glad he’s growing up and becoming more responsible.”

Bernie stopped, seeing the expression on Serena’s face: “What?”

Serena hesitated – she didn’t want to be the harbinger of bad news, but one of the things they’d talked about during those first days back together had been honesty. And truth. And although she quite liked Cameron, Serena wouldn’t endanger their new beginning by lying for him – even by omission. If Bernie found out somehow by someone else, she would be in the doghouse once more.

“He is all right, isn’t he?” asked Bernie, sounding anxious. This was one of the worst things about working abroad. Somehow, when she had been in the army, she had always been too busy and the situations too tense, to have time to worry about those she had left behind. Or so it seemed to her now. Maybe she had just got worse at blocking the anxiety off. Maybe it had something to do with Elinor’s death – or Jasmine’s – or her own daughter ignoring her. But now she felt hypersensitive, on alert all the time. Worried about her children. Worried about Serena. About Jason, Greta and Guinevere. Even sometimes about Marcus and Alex…

Serena took a deep breath: “Yes, of course he’s all right. Maybe a touch of heartbreak, from what I’ve heard through the grapevine, but otherwise absolutely fine. Just – not Junior Lead anymore.”

“Oh” Bernie bit her lips. Of course – she should have expected something like that. “What happened?”

“He – err, let’s just say that his work ethics weren’t up to Jac’s exacting standards. He – he kind of messed up. But I took him in AAU with me to give him a chance – a clean slate, and so far he’s been a chip of the old block! We’ll make a surgeon of him yet.”

“Right – thank you for doing that, Serena. You didn’t need to.”

“No need to thank me, Major – you would have done the same for me if …if …”

Bernie snuck a hand behind Serena’s back and drew her towards her: “Still hurts, uh?”

“Yes – everyday; every time I go past her room. Always.”

They embraced in silence and Bernie thought about Cameron – he was a lot like her, actually – he hid his insecurities under a self-assured façade. Only she usually came out as aloof and cold, and Cameron as brash and conceited. His lackadaisical attitude came from his father, though. She held Serena a little closer, and she yielded in her arms. Cuddles and a little more lead them to sleep…

 

They had one last day together in Paris and with the summery weather, they decided to stay outside as much as possible. As they walked hand in hand in the Jardin des Tuileries, they were both aware they were putting off the big talk as much as possible. Bernie asked about her former colleagues – Ric, Fletch, Donna – and Serena bit back the obvious reply – why don’t you just come back if you miss them so much?

Because after all, she had been the one to tell Bernie she should go and live her life away from Holby. She still didn’t understand why she’d done that, although she had spent sleepless nights agonising over it. Her main theory was that she had felt unworthy of the blonde major – that she hadn’t believed they could get over her cheating. That she would always have felt guilty and beholden to Bernie. She wanted to believe that it had been a “if you love them, set them free” moment, but she didn’t think she was as noble as that. And now, all she wanted was to beg Bernie to come back. And yet, she still believed in what she had said – she truly thought her lover would be bored in Holby. It didn’t keep her from hoping Bernie would choose her over Nairobi. They could get a dog together…

They stopped for lunch in a café and brown eyes stared into brown eyes.

“Serena – you know I can’t come back with you, right?”

“Yes – yes, I know that. But I love you.”

Bernie bit her lips and looked at the brunette with puppy-dog eyes: “And I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. And I think we can make this work – if you’ll wait for me. I won’t be forever in Nairobi. One of the clauses of my contracts was that I would help train a team to replace me.”

“You said once you would wait for me for eternity – I guess I can wait a few months too. How long do you think it will take you?”

Bernie lowered her eyes: “I can’t really tell you – I’m not sure. Maybe – six months? A year? Could you wait that long?”

Serena seized Bernie’s hands over the table and with her other hand, she stroked Bernie’s cheek, making her raise her head: “I’ll wait as long as you want me to. And we’ll visit each other – we managed before, we’ll manage again. You’ll see.”

Bernie desperately tried not to think about Leah – she did not want to raise that issue again. Serena must have read her mind, because she squeezed her hands a little harder: “You can trust me, darling – I won’t make the same mistake twice. You’re the only one I want.”

“I know”, said Bernie in a suddenly small voice. “I just …”

“Believe in me?”

“Always!”

They waited until they were out of the restaurant and back in the park to kiss, a passionate kiss which they would add to the memories of their time together. A kiss they would look back to when they were alone, and which would sustain them until they met again.

Bernie fell asleep in the plane back to Nairobi, her dreams a strange mixture of Parisian parks, Holby’s AAU and a black lab in front of Serena’s fireplace…And kisses…

 

**_Down to the depths of sleep I go,_ **   
**_Where dreams uncaptured move._ **   
**_But do I love you? Who can know?_ **   
**_Yet this, I think, is love.”_ **   
**_― Alexei Tolstoy_ **


End file.
